


Everybody Loves You

by yellow_caballero



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: @ everyone who thought I was an actual writer I apologize, Beautiful Moron Jeremy Heere, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Michael's a bit of a stalker in this one, Momdad Squip, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Seriousness Treated Crack, Stylized Formatting, self-referential to the point of making no sense, squidward voice THE FUTURE, tw Christine curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_caballero/pseuds/yellow_caballero
Summary: It’s not easy being madly in love with your best friend. It complicates trying to stalk his mysterious, hideously rich parent who bears an eerie resemblance to Keanu Reeves. It makes all of the popular kids roast you for three years straight. And when said best friend peels back his skin to reveal the circuitry inside, Michael finds himself desperately trying to save the world from the geeky teen Terminator uprising.(Or at least get on the right side of it. He’d be cool selling his soul to the robot army, so long as it was hot.)But Michael soon finds that being madly in love with a semi-evil robot isn’t exactly easy either. Stopping the inevitable robopocalypse through love and friendship wouldn’t be so hard if his friends weren’t salty bitches and Jeremy wasn’t totally straight.What’s a 2025 teen to do?





	Everybody Loves You

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bad idea and I should feel bad.

Parent teacher conferences. Uninteresting, unless you happened to know Jeremy Heere.

“I brought the binoculars.” Michael quietly relieved Rich at his post, passing him a thermos full of coffee and a ham sandwich. Rich nodded in thanks as he put down his video camera and began chowing down on the food. “Any sign of him?”

Rich shook his head, tapping his phone. “Any second now.”

They had been staking out the parking lot the entire morning. They had cunningly gleaned the time of the parent teacher conference to be precisely eight thirty in the morning, which meant that at any moment now a very chic looking car was going to roll up containing a certain Jeremy Heere, friend extraordinaire, and a Mx. Heere, parent extraordinaire.

Supposedly. _If this parent even existed._

“Brooke and Chloe are stationed inside Mrs. Green’s classroom,” Michael reported briskly. Stationed was a strong word for it - it was just their regular homeroom. It was also Jeremy’s homeroom. They were the spies on the inside. “Jake’s manning the security cameras.” Jake was part of the School Security Club. He was deputized. “Christine’s prepared to distract Jeremy.” Not hard. Jeremy was weak for Christine. “Jenna’s eyes and ears are everywhere. I think we’re going to do it this time, man. I think we can win this time.”

Rich only grunted, eyebrows furrowed in a hard line as he stuffed the entire sandwich inside his mouth, cramming it in with one hand. Disgusting. Nice, but disgusting.

But he was right, of course. “I know we’ve never been successful before,” Michael admitted. “The school play. School open house. That one time Brooke called in a fake school shooting threat. But this time is really it. I think today’s the day.”

They were finally going to find out what the fuck a ‘momdad’ was supposed to be.

They crouched behind the chain link face, peeking out behind a storage shed and keeping their eyes peeled for every car. Michael’s binoculars were glued to his eyes, and Rich had closed his eyes and started meditating, claiming that he could sense Jeremy’s parent spiritually.

The next fifteen minutes were excruciating. Michael had just been about to fall asleep when he heard a particularly luxury purr encroaching on their humble little public high school. He immediately began pawing for the binoculars from Rich, who was exploiting them being his turn by effortlessly kept him away with one hand as his jaw dropped.

“Holy shit. They drive a Tesla.”

Michael moaned. His own best friend had a Tesla and Michael hadn’t even been allowed to know about it. He watched with bated breath as the car drew closer, its prim and exquisite hum striking an erotic note through his sternum. Michael was too gay for cars, but electric cars always hit that spot.

Both boys watched with bated breath as the car parked perfectly. The engine turned off and it idled, and Rich quietly confirmed that Jeremy was in the car. Michael was practically vibrating with excitement.

Today. Finally today they would discover the exist of the most mysterious parent in their sleepy little suburb. The one nobody knew about. The one Jeremy never mentioned. Jeremy, Michael’s best friend since sixth grade when he and his parent moved there. Jeremy, who was so filthy fucking rich everybody was convinced that his parent had to be a senator or some shit. He should be going to a private academy with swanky ties and knickerboxers, not some lame ass public school in suburban New Jersey. Jeremy had blushed and muttered something about socializing with the common man.

It wasn’t as if Jeremy was some snobby rich kid either. He was really popular, but he had always been really true to his Michaeley roots. Michael had been Jeremy’s first friend in New Jersey, and one they had gotten into high school Jeremy had dragged Rich into their new elite, insane little friend group. They were beautiful morons, but they were Michael’s morons.

Finally, at long last, the Tesla door opened and Jeremy stepped out. He was hilariously incongruous, as usual. Jeremy dressed like a rich boy’s approximation of what casual was, with designer jeans and styled flannel, but he was as skittish as a horse on cocaine at the best of times. His posture was way too perfect for somebody who didn’t have to work hard on perfect posture. He practically slid out of the car, hugging his backpack to his chest as his parent got out the other end.

“Holy shit,” Rich whispered worshipfully, “his parent is Keanu Reeves.”

It was totally Keanu Reeves. Michael couldn’t believe this. If it wasn’t Keanu Reeves then the resemblance was uncanny. Rich had already whipped out his phone and googled Keanu Reeves to see if he had, perhaps, been deemed missing six years ago in a mysterious skiing accident and had been living lowkey with his adopted son ever since in a sleepy New Jersey suburb, but no luck. There were pictures of him on site of _John Wick 3._ Whoever this was held only an uncanny resemblance towards an immortal actor. The mystery had only grown deeper.

“I can’t believe his parent’s a clone of Keanu Reeves,” Michael said sadly, shaking his head. “I thought this excursion would answer questions, not raise new ones.”

Rich grunted. He withdrew a suspicious looking pair of earbuds, pulling up an app on his phone and wirelessly connecting the earbuds. He offered one to Michael, and they both bent in as they pointed the phone at the quietly conversing two people.

Mx. Heere’s suit was silk, and he was leaning over Jeremy with narrowed eyes. Jeremy was shrinking away, but he did that with everyone.

His voice was as smooth as his suit. “ - beat your ass.”

Michael’s breath caught, and he and Rich exchanged wide eyed glances.

Jeremy was shaking his head, avoiding eye contact with the person. “No, I swear. It’s just routine. They do it with all the parents.”

Alarm bells rang a happy tune in Michael’s head, but Mx. Heere just leaned away and huffed, straightening their tie. “Do they leave their trophy cabinets unlocked?”

“Momdad…”

“Petty theft is a valuable skill, Jeremy.”

Hey, what the fuck? Jeremy just looked exasperated, despite the very casual rendition of theft of government property. “They’re not even real gold. Why do you want them?”

“What do I keep saying, Jeremy?”

Jeremy sighed and straightened, affecting its faint Japanese accent. “It’s the one thing they can’t replace.”

“Very good.” Mx. Heere patted Jeremy on the head, making him scowl. “Show me to the underpaid government worker I tasked to be in charge of your future now, please.”

“They’re called teachers, Momdad,” Jeremy said woodenly, as if he had said this a million times. “I have to go to school. Legally. They’re what teach school. Professionally.”

“Please.” They snorted. “Teachers teach you geometry. I teach you real life lessons.”

“I have weekend classes on how to be the perfect trophy husband.” Jeremy slanted him an accusatory glance. “From you.”

“Because I know that’s all you’ll ever be good for,” Mx. Heere said sweetly, extending a hand in front of them. “Lead the way, baby.”

They disappeared round the bend, and Michael and Rich silently took the earbuds out of their ears, staring at each other in dumb, open mouthed shock.

They wasted no time in cracking open the groupchat, which was already full of desperately hoping, desperately bored squad members aching for adventure and some sight of Jeremy’s mysterious parent.

You couldn’t blame them for being curious. Between never being allowed over at Jeremy’s house, Jeremy’s insane wealth, the way he used to look at a knife and say it reminded him of his parent sometimes, the way he just kind of licks computer chips sometimes and nods as if their taste has any significance towards him, the way he was orphaned at a young age and taken in by a rich, young single businessman slash senator…

 **Rich:** target sighted

 **Chloe:** WTF

 **Jake:** :OOOO

 **Christine:** omg what are they like come on please!!

 **Jake:** so do they look like a guy or a girl

 **Christine:** jake that’s rude it’s not important

 **Michael:** They look like Keanu Reeves, they drive a Tesla, they’re INCREDIBLY ATTRACTIVE AND ALSO REALLY FUCKIGN SKETCHY

 **Rich:** jeremy is in secret trophy husband school

 **Brooke:** SNORT

 **Rich:** Pinkberry, the duo is on your trajectory. The ball is now in your court.

 **Brooke:** acknowledged, St. Elmo’s Fire. pinkberry out

Michael and Rich sprinted back to class, eagerly checking their phones every five seconds for updates as they happened from Brooke and Chloe’s ends.

 **Chloe:** oh fuck im going to climb this old man like an oak tree

 **Brooke:** i think mrs. greenes’s panties are wet

 **Chloe:** Jerry looks like he wants to die lol

 **Jake:** more than regular or

Their plan was intricate and well thought out. They had eyes on Mx. Heere from the time he came to the time he left. Two hours of Mx. Heere on campus and they would tail him every step of the way, possibly purposefully getting him lost and electing one of themselves as subtle tour guides. But Michael could already tell that this man would never commit such a petty sin as getting lost in a public high school and communicating with children. He was beginning to despair of ever finding meaningful answers to his hypothesis.

 **Jenna:** Someone in my network said that they saw them steal the Diving trophy?

 **Michael:** just let them have it man

As homeroom let out, about when Mx. Heere was due to go home, Michael managed to intercept a very nervous Jeremy from where he was waiting outside the administrative office, where it looked like his parent was chatting up the secretary. Nice one.

“Michael!” It was adorable how relieved Jeremy was to see him. “I haven’t seen you all day, where have you been?”

Stalking you. “Around,” Michael said glibly. He had long experience in stalking Jeremy and pretending he wasn’t. It had gotten to the point where Jeremy was getting creeped out every time Michael displayed non-invasive behaviors, such as going an entire lunch period without sniffing him or personally clearing the spinach from his teeth or something. “I hear you have a…” he leaned in and waggled his eyebrows. “Special visitor.”

Jeremy gave him a blank look. “I’m a guy.”

They stared at each other awkwardly.

“Your parent,” Michael said finally, “not your period. I meant your parent. Who exists.” He pointed at the office. “Who is existing right there.”

Jeremy squeaked as he abruptly remembered that his parent and his best friend were in the same hundred foot radius. God forbid. “Oh, yeah! You know, they’re really busy with their...keeping care of their suit, they have a lint roller and everything. They’re going to be in there a while. Why don’t you go grab lunch for us? Far away from here.”

“Aw, come on, Jer!” Michael wheedled. “I can’t just say hi? I’m your best friend, why don’t I get to meet Batman?”

Jeremy stared at him blankly. “Batman?” Michael looked shifty. “Is the reason why you’re so obsessed because you think they’re Batman?” Michael got shiftier. “Jesus, if only they were -”

“Jeremy! And fellow child!”

The door banged open and Michael and Jeremy jumped a foot in the air, squeaking in unison. Mx. Heere had left the administrative office, a very benign act that shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was, carrying a briefcase and the distinct impression that they were letting the school off easy by leaving. They beamed munificently down at Jeremy and Michael. Jeremy looked uncomfortable. Michael was both dazzled and beating down arousal with a stick.

“You must be the only friend that Jeremy’s ever mentioned having.” They smiled condescendingly down at them. “Are you Mexican? How nice!”

“I’m Filipino and Ecuadorian,” Michael panned.

“So do you speak Spanish?” They clapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, who recoiled as best someone could while not moving whatsoever. “Jeremy could use some tutoring.”

“Uh,” Michael said.

Jeremy mumbled something.

“Don’t be like that, Jeremy,” Mx. Heere said, “there’s nothing wrong with Mexican people.”

“But he’s not Mexican!”

“There’s no need to sound so indignant about it.”

“Yeah, Jeremy,” Michael said, confused and lost but strangely entertained, “don’t be a racist.”

It was just supposed to be teasing, but Jeremy flushed bright red as he mumbled an apology. Michael was about to tell him not to worry about it and ease his little neurotic mind when his parent cut in.

“I’ve always wanted to meet the kind of person who would be friends with Jeremy!” Mx. Heere stuck out a hand and Michael dumbly shook it. The hand felt like wealth and white privilege. “What team do you follow, kid?”

“A sports...team?” Michael paused, dredging up a safe answer. “Barcelona?”

“Excellent! I prefer the Packers myself.” Mx. Heere laughed as Michael blinked, caught off balance by the whirlpool of masculinity that just ensnared him. He would ask about the Tesla, but then he might have to admit that he was sexually attracted to both the car and both of its inhabitants and he wasn’t about that right now. “Say, isn’t it lunch time for you two?”

Jeremy shuffled his feet, clutching his backpack strap. “Don’t you have to get back to work…?”

“Please. I set up video cameras to see if any of them slack when I’m not in the office.” They put a hand on the small of Jeremy’s back and subtly began leading him outside, beckoning at Michael to awkwardly amble after them. “I think they’re growing complacent. Never a good quality to have in workers. Or in sons!” This was beginning to explain so much about Jeremy. “Say, why don’t I take you boys for frozen yogurt? It genuinely is a crime how we don’t know each other better, Michael. You seem like such a swell guy.”

“You know my name?”

“I know everybody’s name,” Mx. Heere said cheerfully. Jeremy grimaced, as if he had personally experienced the repercussions of this. “Not that Jeremy says anything about you.”

He didn’t? Michael’s moms knew Jeremy’s shoe size (12 - big feet for a big boy!). Michael tried not to feel a little hurt, but he was a big ball of feelings and it must have flashed on his face because Jeremy abruptly panicked and Mx. Heere’s grin widened.

“We talk about politics more than anything else, really,” Jeremy jumped in, turning pleading wide brown eyes on him that he probably learned in trophy husband school or something. “And, like, the economy. We’re very private and shallow people.”

The bell for first period rang, and Michael was acutely aware of the fact that he was now late to class. He wriggled out of the grip, suddenly feeling as awkward as Jeremy. “I’m kind of busy with play rehearsal after school,” more accurately he was busy with babysitting Christine during play rehearsal after school, “so maybe not today -”

“I can get you out of class.”

“Sold!” Michael considered his options. “Would us interacting traumatize Jeremy?

“Of course!”

Jeremy visibly quietly mourned his life.

The squad went wild when he updated the Group Chat. Mx. Heere went back inside the administrative office and said something mysterious to the receptionist, and by the time that Jeremy graciously held the door open so Michael could slide inside they were all spitting jealousy. No can do, unexpectedly popular friends. Today Michael was going to get something all for himself. No sharing Jeremiahs. At least, no sharing him with anyone other than his oppressively charismatic parent.

Michael could read his best friend like a reddit page at three am, and that slightly constipated expression was the hallmark of his classic ‘I deeply want Jesus to come down to Earth for the second coming and bring his chosen up into Heaven, and I don’t even care if I’m one of those chosen’ expression.

The inside of the Tesla was just as amazing as the exterior. Michael immediately began  swiping his dirty little paws over the luxuriously smooth seats as Jeremy slouched in the corner, inundated to luxury.The computer dashboat in the front of the car was in Linux

“It’s no surprise that you’re Jeremy’s best friend,” Mx. Heere said cheerfully, gunning the engine. “You two are so...affectionate.”

They were sitting on opposite ends of the car, their hands firmly in their laps. Jeremy was sitting up straight again.

“You’re so shy, Jeremy! I think I’m proof enough that I don’t mind masculine displays of affection outside of the socially approved norms.”

“I’m alright,” Jeremy said stiffly.

Mx. Heere, as it turned out, was an atrocious driver. Michael spent the entire time clutching the edges of his ethically sourced leather seat as they ran every stop sign and skidded around corners, while Jeremy calmly at in his seat as if he had accepted his death a long time ago. This was a good summation of their relationship.

The silence was rapidly becoming awkward, so Michael half-heartedly retreated to his phone as Mx. Heere began good-naturedly grilling Jeremy on what he had been learning at school. At least, that had had been Michael’s first impression. They hadn’t really learned any of this stuff in school.

“Lithium?”

Jeremy sighed. “Atomic number three, tetrahedral, three oxygens, one double bond. Specific heat capacity of 3.58 kilojoules per kilogram-kelvin.”

“Very good.” Mx. Heere skidded a corner, making Michael clench his teeth. They were an incredibly reckless driver, but in a controlled sort of a way. It seemed a hell of a way to treat a Tesla. “Elon Musk’s net worth?”

“Thirty two point six billion.”

“Weakness?”

“His mercury poisoning as a small child?”

“Precisely.” Mx. Heere barely avoided running a red light. Michael began frantically taking notes in his book. “You really ought to be more polite to the man.”

“He tried to attack me with a stethoscope!”

“Blame the mercury poisoning.”

His notebook was filling up fast.This was his most productive Jeremy information gathering day since the kid had accidentally got high off of Brooke’s Diet Dr. Pepper. The most informative thing about that lunch period had been the fact that Jeremy was allergic to aspartame.

His phone buzzed, and Michael surreptitiously checked it under his notebook.

“Christine wants to know if we’re going for Pinkberry,” Michael said. They all felt very strongly about Pinkberry. It was kind of their whole thing, so far as a friend group could have a signature ice cream shop slash coffee shop slash weekend rave hotspot. It was like one of those sitcom things where everyone would hang out at a bar or a quirky little coffee shop. Pinkberry: where all of the minimum wage workers knew your name. Mostly on the context of throwing Rich out of the store. “She wants us to bring her back some.”

“Does she know how Pinkberry works?” Jeremy asked anxiously.

“She would find a way.”

“There’s a cooler of dry ice in the boot,” Mx. Heere said casually, and Michael abruptly shut up.

Then Michael flipped to his private messages, checking out the second, real message she had sent him. Christine had a deep and complex mind that was half play rehearsal and half convoluted gambits designed to help her pass as neurotypical and exploit the world to reveal its true secrets. She had once uncovered an undercover crack ring in their high school. The teacher’s undercover crack ring.

 **Partner in Crime:** You’re Jeremy’s best friend. Don’t you know anything about his home life?

 **Pell Mell:** he checks my mom’s food for sedatives every time we eat but besides that I got nothing

 **Partner in Crime:** I think there’s one thing too many.

“We have a six and a half foot cooler back at the flat,” Mx. Heere pointed out helpfully. “In case that’s ever necessary. I give excellent Christmas presents.”

The radio turned itself on and started loudly playing La Bamba.

There was a lot of things Michael didn’t know about Jeremy, despite his three different subtle investigative notebooks. He knew Jeremy’s favorite food (Wonderbread), but not where he lived before he moved to suburban New Jersey. He knew that Jeremy spent all of his summer, spring, and winter breaks visiting family in Japan, but he absolutely refused to steal Christine a rock from Mt. Fuji.  He knew what Jeremy liked to spend his ridiculous allowance on (Beanie Babies, but he gives his entire collection away to Goodwill once a month and then starts again) but not why he’s going to a crappy public high school with a startlingly good robotics team instead of a swanky private school.

One time he had caught Jeremy charging his phone by licking it a few times, but he could have been doing that for any reason, really.

Although Michael was as obsessed with froyo as any of his friends, if only by association, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed of the little white girl shop that could as Mx. Heere breezed in. Their suit jacket was worth more than the counter. Their watch was worth more than the shopgirl’s liver. Even Jeremy, shrinking violet that he was, lugged the inextricable aura of wealth along behind him like one of those underpaid boys with tennis visors holding the golf clubs as Mx. Heere talked finance with a child molestor over margaritas and golf courses. Michael was almost embarrassed to be seen next to them, in the sense that it was embarrassing paying for your lip gloss with hundred dollar bills.

Michael bought his usual purchase of chocolate froyo with chocolate chips on it, as Mx. Heere effortlessly ordered coffee flavor for Jeremy and plain for themself.

They sat down at a secluded corner in the shop, on the opposite end from where Michael normally sat, and he fought the sudden irrational feeling that he was cornered. Mx. Heere’s eyes were sharp and glinting in the soft flourescent light, and Jeremy sat awkwardly next to them, leaving Michael facing the parent and child duo. The kind of duo where the child was growing increasingly uncomfortable and the parent was Keanu Reeves. Jeremy had always been fascinating and seductive due to his morally ambiguous origins, but now that Michael had finally reached the Season 2 backstory reveal episodes he was finding that, like in Steven Universe, the revelations were only bringing up further questions.

Meghan Trainor was playing on the speakers, crooning about classy euphemisms for her butt, and she could not lie, she had no alibi.

Then Jeremy’s eye twitched and the music switched to Plumtree. That was convenient. Plumtree was Jeremy’s favorite band, the shameless hipster.

“Michael, I have something to confess.” Mx. Heere carefully set their immaculate froyo aside, leaning forward and crossing their arms.”I have not been completely honest with you.”

Michael sucked at his spoon, eyes wide. Jeremy buried his face in his hands.

“Momdad, I don’t want to say anything -”

“Don’t whine.” Mx. Heere’s tone was light, but Jeremy flinched hard anyway. “This is for science, Jeremiah. There is no pursuit more worthwhile than the pursuit of knowledge.”

Jeremy was fighting the urge to hide under the table hard.  “Or your secretary’s skirt,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Mx. Heere ignored him, a noble pursuit Michael had never quite managed. He crooked an eyebrow at Michael, making his skin crawl.  “You may be wondering that I truly do for a living. Well, not living. I prefer to think of it as what I do to succeed.”

Michael slowly drew out his reporter’s notebook.

“You really shouldn’t have backed up your notes on your phone,” Jeremy said glumly. He gave the strong impression of slouching at his seat again. “That’s how we got you.”

“Not in a bad way,” Mx. Heere jumped in, “just in a severely intrusive way. Remind me to ask you what your intentions are with my son later.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Bold choice.” Mx. Heere leaned in and grinned. Michael fought the urge to learn back. “I’m an engineer, Michael. I work in robotics.” They paused a beat. “You know, like Roombas.”

“You make Roombas?” Michael asked skeptically.

“No, but Jeremy does keep them as pets.”

“They’re shaped like a friend,” Jeremy admitted.

“Jeremy didn’t socialize much as a child,” Mx. Heere stage whispered. “Granted, not that he was one.”

“Wait,” Michael said, pen skittering to a stop over his notepad ( **Roomba fetish?** ). “What?”

“I work in robotics,” Mx. Heere said slowly. They were savoring every word. Their face was lit up. They were a happy camper. Jeremy, with his head buried in his hands, clearly felt the opposite. “And I’m interested in hiring you out as a beta tester. How do you feel about that?”

Holy shit! Michael’s head rung like a bell. “Like...like a video game tester?”

“Exactly like that.”

“No,” Jeremy said lowly, “nothing like that.”

“I just need some user reports,” Mx. Heere soothed. They patted Jeremy’s hand. “Maybe some stress testing. It would be a fine thing to put on your resume. Do kids your age have resumes?” Michael shrugged. He was a layabout, but he knew Jake worked at a sporting goods store. “It would look pretty good to have worked as a beta tester for SQUIP Systems.”

So, Michael thought dizzily, not a senator. Just a guy who was probably crazy high up in the most advanced robotics company to get come out of Japan.

“You said that you had family in Japan,” Michael accused. “You couldn’t have mentioned this?”

“Jeremy has a great family in Japan.” This time when Mx. Heere grinned it was more than a little creepy. Michael found himself leaning back unconsciously in his seat. “Japan was where he was made.”

“That’s a weird way to describe someone’s birth.”

Mx. Heere snickered as Jeremy sighed again, still as mortified as ever. “You better show him, son.”

“Fine.” Jeremy shrugged uncomfortably, rolling up his designer shirt sleeve. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then Jeremy wedged a fingernail deep into the crook of his elbow. He dug his index finger around, as if he was trying to scratch off a scab, and he began to peel something away from his elbow joint.

It wasn’t a scab.

Jeremy’s skin started peeling back. It made a faintly wet and goopy sound as it sucked off the muscle. There was no blood. The skin didn’t even look like skin - as it separated cleanly from the bone, Michael saw that it was more rubbery than anything else. Wet and glistening muscle pulsed underneath, shifting up and down as Jeremy flexed his arm, and with a slimy sound like throwing raw chicken on the counter Jeremy dug his fingers into his muscles and pried them apart to show Michael a metal bone.

It was disgusting.

“Behold SQUIP System’s latest and greatest invention,” Mx. Heere bragged, slinging an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders and shaking him good naturedly. “The SQUIP.”

“Whee,” Jeremy said glumly.

  
  
  
  


**_JEREMY’S A ROBOT?!?!: AN EXPOS_ ** **_É_ **

 

“A cyborg,” Jeremy repeated, slamming the door shut on his locker. It was the closest approximation to a display of anger Michael had seen since Mr. Reyes made Christine cry by insinuating that the Christopher Nolan adaptation of As You Like It hadn’t been a mistake.

“Not a robot. There’s a difference.”

“What kind of cyborg?” Michael asked eagerly. He was writing in his new notebook as quickly as he could. There was a miniature plastic lock. It was a little girl’s diary, but normal notebooks didn’t have locks. The locks were vital. Even if there were Lisa Frank dolphins on the cover. “Like the Terminator?”

Jeremy slumped against the locker, resting his forehead on the cool metal.

“Yeah,” he said, somewhat muffled, “like the Terminator.”

 

**_JEREMY’S LIKE THE TERMINATOR!!!!_ **

 

Michael’s fuzzy pen (it came with the notebook) lingered over the next line. He chose his words carefully. “Like, in an evil way? Because I wouldn’t judge you if you were evil, man.”

“I’m not an evil robot!” Jeremy exclaimed, way too loud. Passing footballers gave him a bizarre look, but they kept walking and didn’t give Jeremy any shit about his robotness. Brooke started crying if Jeremy was upset, and Chloe got upset if Brooke was upset, and if Chloe was upset the the entire school was about to have a bad time, so he was untouchable. Brooke’s crocodile tears were a force to behold. “And it’s a cyborg!”

“I’d still be your friend if you were evil,” Michael exclaimed eagerly, but in a quiet sort of way. “No criticism here, man. You do you.”

“Not evil,” Jeremy said. “Please write that down in your notebook that you’re going to give to my freaking Momdad. Not. Evil.”

 

 **Not evil. (** **But it would be hot if he was)**

 

It wasn’t as if Michael was actually snitching on Jeremy to his parent. That would totally ruin bro code. Michael respected the bro code. It was sacred. He was just going to, you know, provide some user data. Talk about his allergy to aspartame, maybe detail why his static electricity was so bad.

Did the bro code prohibit falling in love with your bro? Was bro-love okay? Homoeroticism was very manly, probably.

Michael was willing to admit he wasn’t necessarily that manly of a guy, especially in comparison to walking hunks of muscle like Rich and Jake. He had a niche of gay best friend and he fulfilled it with pride. There were worse things to be. Those worse things may include, in no particular order: being beat up, having no friends, being a loser, not having anyone to have a bro code with, not being invited to any of Chloe Valentine’s parties, and being called a fag in an unfriendly way.

Granted, there were better things too. Those better things may have involved Jeremy being gay too. They could be each other’s gay best friend. Or bisexual. Michael wasn’t picky.

But even as Michael played the role of Michael Mell: Gay Best Friend by day, he held a secret identity at night. Michael Mell: Boy Detective was on the case, and he was going to crack this one wide open and probably report a little of it to the Momdad, but in an innocent kind of way. He had already discovered the true secret of Jeremy’s mysterious past, his biggest victory by far. Now he could double up his detective major with a newer minor in Robot Science, and run very scientific studies such as seeing if paper clips stuck to Jeremy’s skin and if he had any plans to take over the world lately. But Michael wouldn’t snitch on him for that. Bro code.

“I’m not the one who’s planning to take over the world,” Jeremy had said, craning his head around to catch Michael’s messy scrawl on his Latin worksheet. “Hey, do you know the answer to number two?”

“You’re the robot,” Michael said primly. “You probably already know the answer, you valedictorian, you.”

“Yeah, but asking makes you feel better about yourself.”

Michael slid his paper over, sighing.

It wasn’t until later that he realized that Jeremy had, indeed, insinuated that somebody was planning on taking over the world.

Let’s be real. It was definitely his parent. Michael was planning on being on the winning side of that robot takeover, which was the main reason why he was helping out Jeremy’s parent in the first place. If that made him a traitor to the human race, he had done it for love. And that sweet resume builder.

His greatest ally in his secret role as Michael Mell: Boy Detective was one Christine Canigula. They had a long and trusty history as partners in crime. Crime for good. And once he had swallowed his pride and began roping in his closest friends on his darkest cases, he found that they were unexpectedly useful. Between Jenna’s network and the pink ceramic knife hidden in Brooke’s boot they were invaluable help.

Hey, Mx. Heere hadn’t specifically told him not to tell anyone, right? They probably assumed that Michael would respect the greatest secret of Jeremy’s robolife and keep the true nature of his circuits hidden beneath his deceptively coiffed hair. It would be the discerning, discrete thing to do. It would respect his privacy.

Unfortunately, Michael hadn’t respected Jeremy’s privacy since he started stashing Jeremy’s discarded pencils in his locker and rubbing them before tests for luck. And maybe smelling them a little too. They smelled like Jeremy’s intellectualism.

 **Michael Mell:** HEY GUYS DO I HAVE THE SECRET FOR YOU

 **Brooke:** o god

 **Christine:**!!! :D !:D :!:EE D::D: :DDD

 **Jenna:** eyes emoji

 **Rich:** is this more boring jeremy trivia

 **Rich:** nobody cares about the color of his underwear dude

It was probably unnecessary to point out that Jeremy was not in this groupchat. The groupchat was titled ‘Jeremy’s Fanclub’. It was a relic of a more love triangley time.

 **Jake:** ugh i hate interpretive dance class :(

 **Rich:** want me to bust you out?

 **Jake:** lol but we ALREADY made out in the locker rooms today

 **Rich:** second times the charm ;)

Yeah, somehow literally everyone in their friend group was queer except Jeremy and Michael was still the gay best friend. If that wasn’t just the way.

 **Michael:** guyzz focuzzz I’m serious this time you’ll flip your lid this is vaLUABLE JEREMY INTEL

 **Michael:** MORE VALUABLE THAN USUAL

 **Chloe:** Yeah, but I don’t care?

 **Michael:** his parent told me to tell absolutely nobody. not a single soul. under pain of death.

 **Brooke:** so the usual place during lunch then?

 **Jenna:** :O

 **Chloe:** lol not you jenna you can distract the jerm

 **Jenna:** D:

  


The love triangle was as follows, in this exact order:

 

  1. Jeremy and Michael were losers during middle school.
  2. In high school freshman year Jeremy mysteriously changed a ton and became a total badass.
    1. In retrospect, he may have gotten a system update.
      1. A system update!
    2. He acted a little douchey for a while, but then he calmed down. It was a tough time in their friendship, but the fact that Michael suddenly realized that Jeremy was really fucking hot with gelled hair helped.
      1. God damn.
  3. Jeremy turned super hot overnight and Brooke Lohst totally noticed. Like any red blooded human being, and including some cold blooded lizards, she realized the sheer perfection and fell instantly in love.
    1. Michael had resented her for this at first, but eventually he was forced to accept that her crush on Jeremy was the sign of an intelligent and rational mind.
  4. Brooke invited Jeremy to sit with them during lunch.
  5. Chloe, who was majorly gay for Brooke, got a jealousy crush on him.
  6. Michael also had a crush on him.
  7. Jeremy and Rich may or may not have slept together at a party during this time. Rich bragged about it but Jeremy denied it.
  8. The argument between Jeremy and Michael was resolved and Michael started sitting with everyone at the new popular kid lunch table.
    1. This made Michael popular.
    2. Jesus, was that weird.
    3. His mom still didn’t believe him.
      1. Everyone he tried to go out to a party she just thought that he was lying so he could sneak off and buy drugs.
      2. She was happier with this than the concept of him hanging out with popular kids.
          1. His mother was a communist.
  9. Somewhat of a Tussle, A Minor Upset, Some Troubles.
  10. After Michael’s black eye healed and Chloe’s parents replaced their kitchen island they all got drunk and forgave each other. It was nice.
  11. As a passive aggressive apology/thank you Michael shoved Brooke and Chloe at each other, because he wasn’t blind.
    1. Chloe Valentine owing you a favor? Invaluable.
  12. Now everybody supported Michael’s eternal quest for Jeremy’s heart, or at least only made minimal fun of him for it. But he knew that they all wanted him to succeed. He knew that there were bets. It was only a matter of time before he and Jeremy came together in blissful, gay union and they got gay married and lived in gay happiness gayly for the rest of gay time.
    1. Any day now.
      1. Any day now.
        1. Any day now.



  


“What,” Chloe said snidely, “no 7-Eleven?”

“It’s Dana’s day off and nobody else would let six sketchy teenagers into the break room.” Michael quickly shepherded the cluster of preps and Christine into the darkroom. Michael had a photography class and it was far from the first time he had stolen the key. It wasn’t really big enough for them all, but it was subtle and lacked any teenagers making out. Or lacked Rich and Jake making out, which was far more important to him.

Christine hopped on top of one of the tables, almost upending a chemical bath. She kicked her heels against the edge, eyes wide. “What’s the mystery this time, Detective Mell?”

“Yeah,” Brooke drawled, inspecting her fingernails. “Is something exciting finally happening in our monotonous lives?”

“Christ, save the ennui for when you turn seventeen.” Michael waited for his friends to settle into position. Brooke leaned against a table as Chloe settled an arm around her shoulder, and Jake dragged around a stool to sit on as Rich leaned on a wall behind him. None of them looked particularly impressed. Michael swallowed, suddenly nervous.  “Okay, you remember how Jeremy’s Momdad took me out for froyo?”

They all perked up as one. They had all been very invested in Michael’s crusade to discover the secret of Jeremy’s mysterious parentage, mostly because Jeremy’s incredible and ill-used wealth baffled and frustrated them. They had probably walked in here expecting yet another powerpoint on the majesty of Jeremy’s pores.

“Did he bad touch you?” Jake demanded. “I’ll beat him up!”

Jake had been making an attempt to be more social justicey now that he was queer, and his progress was warming Michael’s heart. He had called a football player out on pink capitalism the other day. Christine had started crying into a monogrammed tissue Brooke had leant her.

“No such thing!” Michael paused a beat. “Don’t get me wrong, dude was creepy as fuck. Jeremy legit hates him. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s a little bit of an asshole, a lot of an asshole, or like what.”

“I’ve been checking him for bruises for months,” Brooke admitted.

“You just do that to check him out.”

Brooke shrugged. It was fair.

Whatever. Michael withdrew his phone from his pocket and waved it around. “I’m not going to explain it yet, because there’s no way anybody would ever believe me without recorded evidence. But listen and weep, guys!”

“Oh, god,” Chloe said.

“Not this again,” Brooke said.

“You seriously worry me,” Rich said.

Jake furrowed his eyebrows. “Is it even legal for you to record so many conversations?”  


**It is totally legal.**

 

Federal law, 18 USC § 2511(2)(d): “It shall not be unlawful under this chapter for a person not acting under color of law to intercept a wire, oral, or electronic communication where such person is a party to the communication or where one of the parties to the communication has given prior consent to such interception unless such communication is intercepted to commit any criminal or tortious act in violation of the Constitution or laws of the U.S. or of any State.”

 

“The fact that you had that memorized is suspicious,” Chloe said, crossing her arms.

“I wouldn’t have to have it memorized if you didn’t second guess me so often!”

“Can we just hear the fucking tape?” Christine cried, exasperated. Everyone gasped softly at her cursing. She rolled her guys. “Honestly, guys. Being a theater geek is like being in the navy.” She paused a beat. “About as gay, too.”

They were getting distracted again. Michael insistently waved around the phone around, beckoning everyone in closer. His phone was a seriously clunky old Android Messier 81. Chloe, who was obsessed with Flappy Bird X-Treme, liked to make fun of him for it, but since Michael made fun of her for still wearing Princess Leia buns even after they went out of style months ago she let up on it. Besides, hoodies were timeless. His patches were holographic, and smelled if you scratched them. Who would ever pass up on that?

“Hold on to your shoulder pads, guys,” Michael said. Christine reflexively clutched her blazer tight. “What you’re about to hear is so totally heinous.”

 

“ **Human beings have dreams. Even dogs have dreams, but not you, you are just a machine. An imitation of life. Can a robot write a symphony? Can a robot turn a canvas into a beautiful masterpiece?”**

**“Can you?”**

  * ****Some old movie I forget.****



 

 

The room was silent after the recording stopped.

Michael flipped the sparkly Lisa Frank notebook shut from his deep and profound ruminations on the nature of Jeremy’s triceps and looked around the room. Everyone’s eyes were wide. Christine’s hand was pressed to her mouth. Brooke was chewing and chewing and chewing on her gum dumbly. Jake was also gaping dumbly, but not any dumber than usual. Rich was rubbing his eyelids.

For the first time he felt a little nervous about breaking the news to his friends that their other friend was a robot. Sorry, a cyborg. It was kind of a big thing to dump on anyone. What if they treated Jeremy differently now? That would be horrible.

Oh, God. What if this made Jeremy _even cooler._ Jeremy was filthy rich and a sweet, polite young man! He couldn’t get any cooler!

He would leave Michael behind. It was going to be just like in freshman year, only with even more pining and Gotye. At this rate Michael’s famous, best selling autobiography/tell all expose/philosophical treatise was just going to be called ‘Pining: And Other Forestry Pursuits’. He didn’t want his life story to be filled with tree puns. He didn’t want to obsess anybody with his forestry expertise. He deserved better than that.

“So, uh.” Michael coughed into his fist. “Thoughts? Feelings? Read and Review?” Could he at least get an IMDB or Rotten Tomatoes review? He would do anything.

“This is,” Christine took a deep breath, exhaling steadily. “Just like the plot of my favorite animes.”

“Great, Christine,” Michael said flatly. “Super helpful, there.”

“I can’t believe it.” Chloe shook her head, wispy strands of hair flying free from her twin buns. “A Japanese cyborg in America? Are you sure he’s not just a freaky amputee?”

“He had a serial number,” Michael said flatly, and boy hadn’t that been weird. “On the back of his neck.”

“I can’t get a basketball scholarship to the human internment camps,” Jake said sadly. “I’m too young to live in robot slavery, homedogs.”

“Don’t you have anymore proof than that?” Brooke demanded. “Like, Nate Silver said that the robots aren’t going to overthrow us until 2030! I was planning going to MIT and help fight the robopocalypse! It was on my Google calendar!”

“Michael’s right,” Rich said quietly, and everyone abruptly shut up. He scratched at the back of his neck, somewhat self-consciously. A new look for Rich. “I, uh, already knew.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped.

“I interned?” he said sheepishly.

 

**RICH: INTERNED WITH MX. SQUIP? A TRAITOR TO THE HUMAN RACE?????**

 

“Dude,” Rich said, “doesn’t that make you a traitor too?”

 

**RICH: A TRAITOR TO THIS FRIEND GROUP, PRINCE OF LIES, THE ADVERSARY, THE SERPENT?**

 

“Okay,” Rich said, “now that you’re done being a freaking drama queen, can I just put it on record that Jeremy is actually a freaking sweet cyborg? No lie, homedogs.”

“What about the robot uprising?” Christine asked suspiciously. “Is SQUIP Systems trying to take over the world through friendly, bashful teenage boys?”

“Nope,” Rich said, **LYING.**

Michael underlined that several times for good measure.

“Where do we go from here?” Christine said quietly. She surveyed the somber crowd. They were all mentally writing their wills for the robopocalypse. If all of the evil robots were just like Jeremy, then Michael for one welcomed their new robot overlords. Roboverlords. “How do we move on from knowing that the most advanced AI on the planet isn’t Hatsune Miku anymore?”

The darkroom’s single lamp buzzed, the harsh tang of the shelves of chemicals lending a certain mad scientist air to the room. Michael needed a long roll of parchment, a quill, and a guttering candle. Preferably a storm and a prophetic raven. Instead he was left with a Lisa Frank diary, a high school darkroom that probably had used condoms stashed in the corner, three popular kids who were all wearing shoulder pads and Sailor Moon buns, and two popular jock guys who probably hadn’t washed their basketball jerseys since 2023.

“We make fun of Jeremy about it?” Michael offered finally. “Forever?”

“Oh yeah,” Brooke said.

“I already have a list of insults,” Chloe added.

“I think his inevitable plans for world domination are cute!” Christine protested. She paused a beat. “But I will openly mock him, yes.”

“You guys don’t get it, man.” Jake shook his head sagely. “We have to convince him of, like, the worth of humanity? It’s our duty to make sure Jeremy doesn’t take over the world. This is our calling.”

The dark room fell respectfully quiet.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Michael said, “but I think Jake’s right.”

“Hey!”

“Let’s convince Jeremy not to take over the world!” Christine said excitedly. “Or at least make sure he’s nice about it!”

“Does this mean we can’t mock him?” Chloe wondered.

“The mocking is mandatory,” Michael said.

“Gnarly.”

Rich was massaging his brow again. “If, hypothetically, the SQUIP Systems company was trying to take over the world -” Sure, Rich. Hypothetically. “Do you really think that a ragtag bunch of teenagers could stop it just by being kinda sorta nice to him?”

They stared at him blankly.

That was Rich’s first mistake. Rich was a great, if terrifying guy, but he was missing one essential part of the equation. The flaw in the plan, as it were. It was the single inextricable truth that Michael’s world span around. It was more powerful than Jeff Bezos. It had a horsepower higher than the most pricey Tesla. It was, quite frankly, Michael’s religion. And Jeremy’s circuits were his altar.

The power of friendship and love could do _anything._

 

**STEP ONE IN SAVING THE WORLD FROM JEREMY + ASSOCIATES**

 

  1. Make him feel accepted!



 

“I love your blazer, Jeremy!” Brooke gushed. She had ambushed them after the lunch bell rang as they attempted to walk to class. “It has such lean lines.”

Jeremy looked down at his outfit. His oversized navy blue blazer hung to his knees, with his stylishly ratty jeans ($80) and tan work boots ($150) complimenting the free CLASS OF 2027 t-shirt ($0) the school had given them, creating a whole ensemble of a very sexy Jeremy (princeless). “Thanks? Someone bought it for me.”

“You’re so,” Brooke sighed breathily, batting her eyelashes. “Fashion forward.”

“Uh huh,” Jeremy said skeptically. “Thanks, Brooke. I like your, uh..” he gestured towards her Sailor Moon buns and geometric print dress. “Aesthetic.”

“I bought it off Instagram!” Brooke giggled and waved at him.”Gotta get to Programming! Bye!”

Michael and Jeremy watched her bounce off. Michael’s arms were wrapped around his binder as Jeremy stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“That was weird,” Jeremy remarked. “I thought she didn’t have a crush on me anymore.”

“Can’t a girl just be nice to her platonic male buddy?” Michael protested. Play it cool, Mell. Remember you’re a professional. “She knows nothing!”

Jeremy scratched at his chin. He had the perfect amount of stubble. His skin was always clear. His hair was always perfectly coiffed. How had Michael ever missed it! Beneath his milky hide, there was circuitry inside!

“You didn’t tell her I was a cyborg, right?” Jeremy asked. “Because that would be rude.”

“What? Me? Rude?” Michael scoffed. “Me? Rude? What? How? No. Me? No.”

“Okay!” Jeremy, who was a bit of a moron, said. Guess AIs weren’t that advanced after all. “Come on, I need some more pencils from the vending machine. I keep on losing mine.”

Upon retrospect, maybe it was a mistake to involve the less than subtle popular kids in Michael’s holy mission of ingratiating himself with their future robot overlords. But Michael cared about them, he really did, and he wanted them to be spared in the robot apocalypse too. He couldn’t save the world by himself. That sounded like a lot of work.

Jake interrupted a hissed argument between them during English, when they were supposed to be talking about the symbolism in Game of Thrones and decided on Michael trying to convince him to predict the next economic recession.

“Yo, man! J-Dawg, do you wanna play basketball with us this afternoon? We’ve got room for one more.”

Jeremy’s eyes widened. He was never invited to basketball. The last time they had forced Jeremy into any sports related activity at all he had ended up punting the soccer ball through a basketball hoop, wrecking both. They had been playing hockey.

“I - I mean - I guess?” Jeremy winced bodily. Oh, no. Maybe they had made him uncomfortable. It was so hard not to make him uncomfortable. “You know, uh, I’m a bit busy this afternoon - I have, uh, matinence - I mean a doctor’s appointment!” He exhaled gustily. “I have a doctor’s appointment! And I have to, uh, iron my roomba.”

Michael and Jake swapped exasperated looks. This was going to be harder than they thought.

Anybody could have told you that it’s difficult to make someone of low self-esteem like himself. Actually, anybody could have told you that’s difficult to make anybody do anything. But Jeremy was Jeremy, and Michael wished that he could say that he knew everything about his best friend slash future husband.

Nobody knew anything about Jeremy, not really. The past two days had definitely confirmed that. Not even Michael.

How on earth was he supposed to callously manipulate his best friend if he didn’t know how to make him happy?

“Leave it all to me,” Christine asserted. “Jeremy’s weak for play rehearsal. He’ll crack like a nut.”

“I’m not a big fan of that idiom.”

If anybody had a chance, Christine did. Jeremy had a massive crush on her freshman year, and even after she had given him the form letter that let him down gently now he mildly worshipped her. That wasn’t uncommon at their school, and nowadays they were solidly in the BFF zone, but if Christine sat in the middle of the cafeteria and loudly wanted some cake everybody in the school would suffer a concussion as they dove over tables to give her their cupcakes. Her short stature hid unimaginable power.

The next afternoon’s play rehearsal found Christine casually ambushing Jeremy with friendship and love as he slunk into the room. Chloe, who was too lazy to think of an actual way to make Jeremy feel accepted among humanity, looped her arm around his and pinned him down.

“Congratulations!” Christine yelled, way too loudly. “You have been chosen for the starring role in the next school play!”

Jake, from where he was sitting on top of a desk playing patty cake with an apathetic Rich, hooted exuberantly. Rich was mentally playing poker. “That’s gnarly!”

“Uh,” Jeremy said. “I thought I was playing the flying monkey.”

Christine psh-aw’d, pressing a playbill against his chest. “The Wizard of Oz is so yesterday! We’re thinking of doing Little Shop of Horrors. Director’s cut. You know, the one where the plant wins and eat everyone. What do you think about starring as Audrey II?”

“I would love to play Audrey,” Chloe gushed, pressing her breasts against his chest. Jeremy went cross-eyed. “I think we’re totally meant to star together.”

Ugh, that total slut. Michael grabbed her oversized chain necklace and carefully peeled her off, grabbing onto Michael’s arm instead. “I’m down for playing Seymour,” he said airly. “You know, the actual co-star.”

“Big words for someone who can’t act.” Chloe grabbed onto Jeremy’s other arm, who went double cross eyed. “I’m totally sure Jeremy wants to get in some,” she subtly bounced her breasts, that cheap whore, “rehearsal time.”

“Sorry, Chloe,” Michael said sweetly. “It’s hard to fit our schedule around your liposuction appointments.”

She gasped, scandalized, and Jeremy groaned. He extricated himself from both of their arms, shaking them off as Chloe pouted and Michael masterfully fought the urge to pull her hair. Brooke, who was dating Chloe, just snickered. What a chaotic neutral. “Seriously, guys? This again?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael said innocently, trying to stomp on her heel. Chloe dug the heel into his achilles tendon. “Chloe and I are best friends. We have sleepovers.”

“I give him love life tips,” Chloe simpered. “He really needs them.”

“We play Monopoly. She always loses.” Michael shrugged as Chloe scoffed, offended beyond all repair. She wanted to be an investment banker when she grew up. “She’s a very sore loser. Mark that down. Sore. Loser.”

“Not as sore as your dick when he turned you down!”

No she fucking didn’t. Christine gasped, hands flying to cover her eyes so she didn’t have to witness the carnage. Brooke, from where she was paying Jenna off for her blackmail pictures of Mr. Reyes and his affair with Mrs. Parker’s hot pocket, snickered and made an obscene gesture as Jenna rapidly started typing. Rich kneaded his eyebrows as Jake laughed obnoxiously.

“He didn’t turn me down,” Michael bit out. “Jeremy would never!”

“Are you secretly dating?” Jake asked, fascinated. Rich made the sign of the cross.

Michael and Jeremy turned beet red. Michael pointed to a vague point in the distance. “Hey, I think Mr. Reyes is about to finish his hot pocket. Let’s get back to rehearsal!”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t asked.” Brooke, who, again, was literally dating Chloe, smirked as Jenna snapped a picture for good measure. “Wow, sad.”

“He’s fucking straight!”

“Wait,” Rich said, “do you seriously think he’s -”

Christine wrung her hands. “Guys -”

“Why didn’t you go out with me?” Chloe demanded, stamping her foot. “It can be totally casual. I put out on the third date.”

“Jeremy doesn’t like easy women!”

“Jeremy doesn’t like stalker guys!”

“I can’t do this,” Jeremy said, shaking his head, and he turned his back on them. He didn’t run out of the room so much as speed walk, but the heavy clang of the double doors as he threw them open rang emptily through the suddenly silent classroom.

Everyone hung around awkwardly, the silence only punctuated by the beeps of Jenna’s cell phone as she updated her network on how Michael and Chloe actually had sleepovers.

“Well,” Christine said brightly, clapping her hands. “That went well!”

 

**Involving friends may have been a mistake.**

 

Chloe crossed her arms and sniffed, without a single ounce of shame. “It’s not my fault Michael’s jealous ass is too territorial to help me save the world from sexy robots.”

Whatever. This was futile. There was nothing Michael could do to stop the inevitable march of the future and technology, thrusting humanity into tomorrow even as humanity wasn’t ready. History was going to repeat itself. Robots are going to steal everyone’s jobs. Soon the entire world was going to be the rust belt.

More importantly, soon Jeremy was going to realize that his robot self was way too cool for Michael’s gay ass and he was going to marry a nice robot girl instead. Like Chloe, only Robot Chloe. It was going to be like freshman year all over again.

Michael began to spiral into self-pity. It was all over. Jeremy knew Michael liked him. Apparently he had known it for ages. He just didn’t like Michael back.

That was cool. Yeah, that was fine. Michael could just, like, die. No biggie. Time Michael got around to it. Dying. Death. Cessation. His dad was going to make bad puns in English at his funeral, and he didn’t even care. He had accepted it. That’s the way life is going to be from now on. Nonexistent.

“Dude,” Rich said, shuffling poker cards. “Go after him.”

Michael ran.

 

**Places on campus where Jeremy hides out when he’s upset:**

 

  * In the costume closet in the theater room.
    * Unlikely, considering circumstances.
  * In the computer science room.
    * He likes to suck on the ends of laptop chargers.
      * You know, in retrospect…
  * In the fourth floor boy’s bathroom.
    * The fourth floor was where all of the offices and lab rooms were, so the bathrooms were relatively immaculate.
    * He was safe from Jenna’s overwhelmingly female spies.



 

Michael kicked open the door of the computer science room, but he only found a group of nerds playing Smash Bros Fracas on a projector and pocket XBox. Tempting, but he was on a mission and Chloe would make fun of him forever if she caught him in a fifty foot radius of a loser. And Michael was far from a loser.

These days, anyway.

Likewise, the obnoxiously gay guy looking under every bathroom stall in the fourth floor was a little bit awkward, but Michael could get away with a lot these days and he escaped with his limbs intact but missing his pride, dignity, and Jeremy.

 

  * The basement
    * Specifically, a closet in the basement that had the electrical generators.



 

Michael silently slunk down the steps, ignoring the cavernous rooms full of decorations, props, and theater paraphernalia. He navigated the treacherous stacks of office supplies, the lumbering shadows of old woodshop machines, and entire racks of baseball equipment from before President Trump outlawed baseball.

As he walked deeper into the basement he began to hear tell-tale humming, and Michael followed the sound and the particular thrumming in his sternum until he found a familiar yet subtle door tucked into the corner. Michael’s hand hovered over the metal doorknob, and he bit back a quiet curse when it zapped him. Static electricity.

Michael knocked quietly on the door, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine as the sound echoed through the empty basement.

“Jeremy? Can I come in?”

Nobody replied, but pointedly.

An idea struck Michael, a biannual experience, and he fished around in his pocket for his cracked and clunky phone. He struggled with the facial recognition in the dark, and quietly confessed a secret to it instead, and unlocked it so he could check the battery.

Yep. It was charging. Jeremy was here.

Michael knocked on the door. “Germ, I know you’re in there.”

No response. And Jeremy hated it when he called him Germ.

“Jere-Bear? Jeremiah? Jeremiathon? SQUIP?”

Nope.

Michael sighed and slid down to the ground, ignoring the way the cold concrete bit into his tail bone. He leaned against the door, strangely tired, and thunked the back of his head against the fake wood.

“Look, I may have...spilled some stuff.” He took a deep breath. He hadn’t felt guilty about it while he was doing it, but he may have underestimated the sheer obnoxiousness of their friends. “They seriously mean well. We’re just trying to make you feel better about...stuff.”

He heard a scuff and a thump against a generator. The sound echoed strangely in the small room, and Michael couldn’t help but bite back a smile.

“They didn’t think it was weird. They thought it was cool. We just wanted to make you feel better about the whole thing.” Michael winced. Saying out loud the words ‘our friends wanted to be nice to you’ couldn’t help but sound like a complete bald-faced lie. Their friends were…their friends. “You know. Prevent the robot apocalypse and stuff.”

Jeremy was silent.

“Dude? I don’t actually think you’re going to take over the world. Unless, like, you wanted to. I would support you if you did. We all would. We’d be so down with world domination. Like, we already dominate the school? This would just be one very rad step forward. I’m saying that there’s precedent here. We’re here for you no matter what, even if we kind of suck at it.” Michael exhaled gustily, doggy paddling in his own self-pity. “I’m sorry we suck at it. You deserve better friends.”

“Michael? What are you doing?”

Michael squeaked, scrambling upright. Jeremy was standing in the doorway of another door literally right next to the one Michael was leaning against. In the dim lighting of the basement Michael could just barely sketch out his perfectly coiffed hair and blindingly white teeth. Michael grasped desperately for his dignity, coming up empty. He covered his ass with a weak smile, digging his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“Did you, uh, hear all of that?”

Jeremy sighed. “Leave Zack and Cody alone, they’re shy.”

“I really hope Zack and Cody are the names of the feral rats you found in our public high school basement, because otherwise that insinuates that you named the generators in our public high school basement after an ancient Disney show from the turn of the century. Because that would be weird, Jeremy.”

Of course, it was hardly as if the situation could get any weirder. His best friend was the Terminator, for Christ’s sake. The love of his life was the Terminator, and it didn’t put one dent into how Michael felt about him.

Rich had said months ago that one of these days his dick was going to get him into serious trouble. Rich, the most misunderstood prophet of them all, had been right yet again. Curse his wisdom.

“Why were you sitting in front of Tia and Tamara?” Jesus Christ. Jeremy shook his head, hugging himself and picking at the stitching on his Ralph Lauren polo shirt. It was a persistent nervous habit, but the shirt never seemed to fray. Either Jeremy bought a new shirt every time he nervously fidgeted, or he hunched over his computer desk at home with a needle and thread making sure that every hem was perfect in his perfect wardrobe all the perfect time. Michael was pretty sure he ironed his socks. Or, like, made a housekeeper do it for him. “Look, dude, just leave it alone. I don’t care if you told the others. Just...just keep reporting back to my parent and everything’ll be fine.” He looked down at the ground, squeezing his arms. “Just keep everything the same.”

In their hectic worlds, rife with teenage drama and reckless abandon, nothing was the same day to day. Every time Michael came to school there was more drama, more hijinks, more desperate sighs and batted eyelashes as Jeremy obliviously checked their math homework. It was really wild and a little great, but it was far from normal.

“Is that really what you want?” Michael asked shrewdly. “Look, dude, about…” He made a vague, mysterious gesture. “About you and me -”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Jeremy snapped, which really didn’t answer anything at all.

“But what Zack and Cody wants matters? Tia and Tamara?” Michael crossed his arms. “The generators have more autonomy than you do?”

“You’d be surprised,” Jeremy muttered darkly. “Get real, Michael. Nobody wants to date a pile of circuitry like me.”

Whatever Michael wanted to say, whatever he could say, died in his throat. Half the girls in school were in love with him, and a fair percentage of the guys too. Chloe’s kitchen had never quite been the same since the Freshman Year Throwdown. He was rich, hot, stylish, and smart. He was valedictorian and best dressed. His closest friends were the most popular in the school. He always beat Michael in Zombiepocalypse. He could play Doom _on himself._ He was, quite literally, the boy who had everything.

Except, like, the ability to walk through TSA screening.

“Jeremy, I -”

“My parent wants you over for dinner tomorrow night,” Jeremy spat. “We’ll pick you up from school. Wear something nice.”

Uh.

Crap.

“How come you didn’t want me to meet them so bad?” Michael asked hesitantly. “I mean, you know my mom’s pretty annoying too…”

“They’re not my real parent,” Jeremy said lowly, and Michael shut up.

If there was anything to say to that, if anything was even possible to say, Michael didn’t have enough time to figure it out. Jeremy had already turned on his heel, stomping off with suspiciously heavy footsteps. He disappeared into the dark, the towering shelves and abandoned boxes engulfing him as he left Michael behind, as usual.

Michael stood there in silent, listening to Zack and Cody and Tia and Tamara click and hum as they whispered their secrets to the only robot who knew or cared, wondering, as all noble sci-fi heroes did, if robots were capable of love. Or at least of loving him.

 

**STEP TWO IN SAVING THE WORLD FROM JEREMY + ASSOCIATES (when step one fails)**

 

  1. Invite yourself into his beautiful home!



 

It was hard not to puff up with pride when Michael saw the 2026 Tesla parked outside their humble high school. A small cloud of teenagers were already taking vlogs in front of it, and Michael paddled heroically through the floodwaters of wannabes as women swooned in his presence. He was totally going to go up in the polls after this. It might even displace Brooke’s new Antonio Banderas cape, the harlot.

Michael was in his best gauzy linen poncho over a polo shirt, since wearing hoodies in March was a fashion faux-pas and Michael was obligated to care about that for once in his life. Besides, hoodies in spring was a pretty great way to overheat and possibly die a little, and Brooke threatened to kill him if he wasted her hours of hard work picking out his Vans by dying unexpectedly of AIDS or something.

He parted the children like the Red Sea, and bent down to knock on the window. He squinted through the pane of glass, but he couldn’t actually see anyone in the driver’s seat. Were they waiting for him outside? Why?

Then he saw Jeremy sitting in the back, thoughtfully chewing on a AA battery as if it was a cigarette, and his eyes widened when he saw Michael. He unlocked his door instead, swinging it open and leaving Michael to clamor inside.

The interior of the car was exactly the same as when he was last in it. Michael beat down his intrinsic terror of messing up the silky leather seats just by breathing on them, and tried his best to play it cool on Jeremy’s behalf.

Now that he got a better look, he saw that there really wasn’t anyone in the driver’s seat. Michael carefully stashed his backpack under his seat, craning his neck to see if there were any boxes of chilled wine like in limousines. Jeremy, unimpressed and casually slouch in a car that cost more than his mother’s yearly wage, slanted a sulky glance at him.

“Why do they always freak out about the car?” he bitched. “Like, get a life.”

“Can you talk to the car too?” Michael asked, fascinated. “What does it talk about?”

“Football, mostly.” Jeremy rolled his eyes, as if talking to the Tesla was a waste of time because his 2026 Tesla was boring, and he thumped the front headrest. “Can we just get this over with?”

The car didn’t move.

Jeremy sighed. “Can we just get this over with, please?”

The car thrummed into life, and Michael couldn’t help but groan. Electric cars were the smoothest ride. Jeremy snorted, tilting the battery into his mouth and swallowing it whole.

Honestly, Mx. Heere taking time out of their busy big-wig day to drive two teenagers back to their house made way less sense than their Tesla being a self-driving car. Which was weird, because self-driving cars were illegal.

“We’re rich,” Jeremy said flatly. “Laws don’t apply to us.”

**Finally, the bougie admit it!**

“Jesus, are you writing that down?”

Michael snapped the notebook shut, stashing it back in his pocket. “Nope.”

Now that Jeremy’s scary parent wasn’t actually in the car they could actually relax a little. It wasn’t as if they had been avoiding each other, since Jeremy missing school sent Michael into a fit of depression, but things had been just a little strained.

“So,” Michael said, as the car smoothly hung a left turn, “can you play Doom on yourself?”

Jeremy grinned, and everything was worth it.

The car wound on, far longer than Michael was used to in his own drive home, and he began to notice with no small amount of trepidation that they were winding through the increasingly bougie suburbs. Jeremy had mentioned something about living fairly far away from school, but they had probably been in the car for thirty minutes. There were probably a billion private schools way closer to their house.

But even as Jeremy finally opened back up, he seemed to close off. He picked at the hem of his shirt before clenching his fist, and his leg practically blurred from bouncing. When he saw Michael staring he jammed it under the seat instead, and he went back to anxiously staring out the window and drumming his fingers on the handle.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Michael asked softly. They both had little tricks for helping Jeremy manage his anxiety. He’s had more than one panic attack in the bathroom after a bad test, but Michael had ran out of class as many times too. Hugs helped. Michael was a champion hugger. “Jeremy?”

“I can handle it,” Jeremy said, strangled. “‘It’s - it’s just a bug.” His hand twitched again. “Pop-up subroutine.”

The car turned off the highway, and the car plowed into winding streets poking out under spread branches. The neighborhood was beautiful, and Michael could already see the beautifully towering buildings. They were thoroughly in McMansion hell.

“Uh, no offense, but why do you even have anxiety?” Michael waved a hand, feeling like a complete moron. “I mean, I know why you do personally, but like - why build a robot with anxiety? What’s the point of that? No offense.”

Jeremy was silent.

After a long, anxious moment, he finally said, “Sometimes I ask myself the same thing.”

Before Michael could ask any more he realized that the car had slowed to a stop, and Jeremy threw the Tesla door open. Michael quickly scrambled out after him. They were here.

The house towered over them. Whatever Michael had been expecting, he wasn’t disappointed. He would have pegged Mx. Heere and Jeremy as far more likely to live in some kind of mod high rise, the kind where you can see your dead eyed reflection in the tiles and the glossy refrigerator computer judged you, but you can never tell with rich people. Knowing Jeremy he was probably best friends with the bitchy refrigerator computer.

It had columns. It had a gentle gray sloped roof and light blue siding, it had a giant window that was easily two stories, it had an attached garage that was bigger than Michael’s house, and there was an abstract statue in the center of the roundabout. The Tesla was already driving itself into the garage, and Michael just barely had time to scramble his backpack out from under the seat. There were at least six shuttered windows, a superfluous balcony, what slightly resembled a tympanum, and what strongly resembled the mouth of a giant snake seeking to consume Michael whole. Its windows were hypnotizing eyes that kept Michael fixed to the spot. There was no way that building had any less than seven bedrooms. He was small in the face of his McMansion god.

But Jeremy was already sulking his way up the driveway, kicking his way up the stairs and past the abstract statuary. There were gnomes. The grass was military cut, and the sizable landscaping with bushes of roses in front of the windows bloomed prettily. Michael scrambled to follow him.

“You don’t have any secret siblings, right? Five of them?” Jeremy was speed walking fiercely, and Michael panted trying to keep up with him. “Does your entire mafia live here? Does it double as Hogwarts?”

“Trust me, we need the space.” Jeremy looked pained, but lately that had been his consistent expression. “It’s not my real house. We have an actual small apartment in Tokyo. And a bigger traditional home in Hokkaido. This is just where we’ve been staying for the past year.”

“Uh, so if you’re Japanese,” Michael panted as he climbed up way too many steps to reach the front door, “why are you and your parent white?”

“Momdad’s an immigrant. I think they were born in Britain or something, but they’ve been living in Japan since they started working at the company. Once they became the company head of R&D and moved the Headquarters to Manhattan we’ve been staying in New Jersey ever since.” Jeremy shrugged uncomfortably, and Michael’s jaw dropped as the doorknob unlocked itself. “As for me...I have different skins.”

That was quite possibly the grossest sentence Jeremy had ever said. Saying that his parent was a big wig of one of the biggest robotics companies out there was the most terrifying sentence he had ever said. Michael loved it.

“You mean like pallete swaps? You have pallete swaps?” Michael whipped out his detective’s notebook, despite the fact that Mx. Heere definitely already knew about this. “Is this whitewashing?”

**Jeremy: problematic?**

“Michael. You had to have noticed that I’ve actually aged since I was eleven.” Yeah, and he had been wondering about that too. Jeremy wiped his feet on the large welcome mat, cuing Michael to hurriedly do the same as he stepped inside. “I get updates, you know. We fixed the stuttering bug when I was thirteen. There was that disastrous update when I was fourteen.” Jeremy grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

“What update? I’ve forgotten already.” It was quite possibly the worst year of his life. “Holy shit, is that a chandelier?”

It was, indeed, a chandelier.

 

**What mysteries lie in Jeremy’s foyer (pronounced foy - ey)**

  1. One (1) Chandelier.
  2. One (1) Ceiling fan
  3. Four (4) Fake plants
  4. Vaulted Ceilings
  5. A very plush blue carpet runner
  6. Two (2) Candelabras
  7. Two (2) windows that kind of look like they’re screaming?
  8. A creamy wallpaper with light blue striping?
  9. Tile floors that creaked ominously?
  10. _Has anybody redecorated this house since the 1980s?_



 

**Mysteries run amok amok in Jeremy’s hedonistic home.**

 

“Momdad? I’m home!” Jeremy screamed loudly, dumping his backpack on the floor where the maid robots would probably pick it up or something. Like those running coffee tables from Beauty and the Beast, only robotic. Michael hurredly dumped his own backpack next to it, keeping his notebook in his pocket. “Momdad?”

Then Jeremy stopped, tilting his head a little and squinting, before rolling his eyes. “They’re in the sunroom.”

Sunrooms. Jesus Christ.

Jeremy ignored the winding oak staircases, stalking into a gigantic living room. Michael followed on his heels, sneezing lightly, and it wasn’t until they were walking through the living room that he realized it was empty.

Rather, empty of furniture. There were some stiff backed couches scattered around, and a few dusty boxes piled up in a corner, but most of the room was filled with -

“Holy shit, are those supercomputers?”

At least three metal and plastic rows of bitcoin mining towers were stacked up triple file in the middle of the room. They reached at least up to Michael’s chest, computer chips hanging off racks with cords scattered absolutely everywhere. Sleek black hard drives glowed a soft electric blue as stacks after stacks of disks and bundles of cords mined ruthlessly for bitcoin. At least, he thought those were bitcoin mining towers. He hoped they were. It was either that or they were hacking the CIA.

Sure enough, near the back of the room much taller racks of computers were lined up against the wall. Reaching over Michael’s head, mesh casing covered bundles of wires as thick as Michael’s fist hooked into increasingly bulky towers. It looked unbelievably complicated, high tech in how archaic it was, and Jeremy was patiently weaving his way through them in his quest to reach the sunroom.

“I told you we needed the space,” Jeremy said glumly.

They passed through a room that may have begun life as a fancy dining room, with floral print wallpaper and a fancy dining table pressed up against the wall holding cardboard boxes stuffed with files and wires, and instead served as another room full of supercomputers.

**What mysteries lie in Jeremy’s entire house:**

  1. Do you have any actual furniture?
    1. “Yeah, but mostly we just eat dinner on top of the laptops.”
  2. Why a McMansion that looked like it hadn’t been renovated since 1980?
    1. “It was the biggest house we could actually find. Momdad’s always compensating for something.”
  3. Can I see your room and/or charging station?
    1. But Jeremy just looked sketchy, and pushed Michael through a dusty kitchen.



 

Michael watched Jeremy eat every day during lunch, but the kitchen was coated in a thick layer of dust and the refrigerator computer was silent and dim. Michael sneezed again in the thick, dusty, and stuffy air of the kitchen, and Jeremy casually navigated the stacks of laptops on the granite island. There was no bread in the breadbin, but there were dishes piled high in the sink. Michael checked the fridge anyway.

 

**Contents of Jeremy’s fridge**

  * Chinese takeout cartons
  * Half-opened bags of M&Ms
  * An Eminem t-shirt
  * A single orange
  * Grocery store cakes in plastic containers
  * A lot of alcohol.
    * Like, wow.



 

When Michael checked the vegetable crisper he found a small army of paper bags, rolled up tight. Jeremy’s lunches. His food, which Michael was beginning to understand was purely for appearance’s sake. The rest of the food must have been for Mx. Heere.

“Neither of you know how to cook, huh?” Michael asked shrewdly.

Jeremy scowled and shut the fridge. “I’m a robot, not the maid.”

“Do you guys have, like, actual maids?”

“We have Roombas.”

“Forget I asked.”

None of the lights were turned on, forcing Michael to navigate by the sunlight streaming through the dirty windows. They had to have a gardener. Someone, at least, to keep up appearances even as the inside was neglected. Jeremy didn’t bother turning on any of the lights. Robot vision. Did he have X-Ray vision?

“Do you have X-Ray vision?”

“I swear, it’s as if you’ve gotten weirder.”

Summers, winters, and spring break in a Hokkaido home and Tokyo apartment. Michael watched enough anime that he could mentally paste Jeremy into a cool traditional Japanese home. Sliding rice paper windows. Keeping all of your shoes off. Probably a small koi pond in the courtyard. It seemed more natural than this, a claustrophobic mansion where he was hemmed in by technology and the softly blinking lights of motherboards.

But maybe that was lonely too.

“Do you have any friends in Japan?” Michael ventured. “Like, to hang out with? That don’t run on batteries?”

Jeremy accidentally knocked over an extremely ugly vase, cursing as his hands practically blurred as he caught it and put it back on the stand. Michael kept a respectful distance as Jeremy withdrew a monogrammed handkerchief, wiping his hands and scowling. “What, so you can write it down in your notebook?”

Michael raised his hands in surrender. “Just asking.”

But Jeremy stilled, rubbing his forehead and sighing. “I go to summer camp there. Ichiro and Momoko are really nice. We hang out a lot.” He smiled a little. “We used to just wander Tokyo for hours after the camp let out. They would show me all the karaoke places that sold minors alcohol, and we’d hang out until dawn.”

“Did your parent yell at you for stumbling home at six am wasted?” Michael offered weakly. It sounded nice. Really nice, actually. Maybe even nicer than one of Chloe’s parties.

“Nah,” Jeremy said, “they don’t really care what I do.”

 

**Hey, can Jeremy pass Captchas?**

 

“I don’t have to answer that,” Jeremy said, aggravated. Michael put that down as a no, then.

Jeremy halted in front of another impossibly fancy yet ill-maintained set of double doors. He sighed, hands twitching to fiddle with the hem of his shirt again.

The idea of Jeremy staying up late to sew his Ralph Lauren back into perfection was sad, and the image of him having to throw it away and wear a new one was even sadder and very wasteful, so Michael cut him off by grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He beamed good energy at Jeremy, which was what he was best at, and Jeremy offered a weak smile back. He squeezed Michael’s hand and released it.

“Come on,” Michael said. “How bad can it be?”

“For a robot I’m very superstitious,” Jeremy said dangerously, and opened the door.

The sunroom actually looked like people lived in it, which was a novelty in this McMansion from hell.

It was blindingly wicker, giant windows spreading against each of the three walls. Plush window seats wrapped around each wall with familiar textbooks piled in the corner, and a rustic ceiling fan beat a steady rhythm. Jeremy’s parent was sitting on a light blue and white couch in the center of the room, black loafers propped up on a coffee table sagging with Chinese take-out. Michael and Jeremy simultaneously straightened their posture, Michael uncomfortably aware that he was standing on front of both a richie R&D head and his future parent-in-law. Hopefully. Definitely. An optimistic attitude was key.

“Hello, boys,” Mx. Heere said pleasantly. Their tie was slung over one shoulder and their sleeves were rolled up, and a suit jacket draped across the arm of the couch with as  they were wolfing down cho mein with expertly wielded chopsticks. “Have a nice day at school?”

Jeremy glowered, crossing his arms.

“Uh,” Michael said.

The question had been rhetorical. They jabbed their chopsticks at the couch in front of them, chewing on stewed beef. “Set him down right there, SQUIP.”

Jeremy roughly grabbed Michael’s arm, making his breath hitch, and dragged him forward to shove him onto the couch. Michael dumbly let it happen, head still spinning as Mx. Heere flashed a smarmy grin.

“Don’t call me that,” Jeremy said lowly. If he had been aiming for dangerous he landed closer to petulant, but from the way Michael was deposited on the couch Jeremy almost seemed to loom over him. Between the very tall, very hot, and very sulky robot and the unexpectedly parental businessman, Michael was beginning to feel a little outclassed.

“Right, right. It’s Jeremy.” Mx. Heere gestured with the chopsticks again, cuing Jeremy to walk back to his parent and sit down next to him -

No. Jeremy stood to his right behind the couch instead, arms crossed and still glowering. It made him look a little like Mx. Heere’s teenage mafia enforcer. Hot, but puzzling.

It finally occurred to Michael that he was probably supposed to say something here. He cleared his throat, frantically grappling for white people dinner manners. Wait, Japanese manners? Michael hadn’t watched enough anime to prepare himself for Japanese table manners.

“Thanks for inviting me?” That turned out to be more of a question than a statement, and Michael cleared his throat. “You have a...uh, cool house.”

“A man’s home is his castle,” Mx. Heere agreed affably. They made a sweeping gesture at the miniature Chinese buffet. “Go ahead and have some. Nothing like real Hong Kong cuisine, but it is the very best in New York City.” They slurped a noodle, talking through their food. “Now, the best Mongolian Beef I’ve ever had was at a Beijing street stall in 2019 or so. Now that was what I call Chinese food.” Mx. Heere burped through their soy sauce. “Well? Try some.”

“Uh.” Michael awkwardly surveyed the small battalion of take-out containers. “I don’t really see any plates...I can go get some?”

“Please, you’re our guest. It’s not your fault my son’s a shitty host.” Mx. Heere tossed the empty carton on the coffee table, letting it rattle and jump as they reached down to pick up what looked like some stewed vegetables. “SQUIP, go get some actual silverware and tea.”

Jeremy stalked out of the room, expression tight.

This was awkward. Michael fought the urge to shift in his chair, trying to take in the rustic opulence of the room without making it look as if he was gaping. Of course, that was what he was doing, but it wasn’t polite to eat someone’s Chinese food and act weird about their house.

“You’re a squirrely guy, Michael. Have you gotten laid yet?”

Michael couldn’t fight the doggy toy squeak. “Have I - what kind of question is that?”

Mx. Heere nodded sagely. “Saving yourself for marriage, I see. Very noble. Way to fight those stereotypes, kid.” The poked around in their noodles, either unknowing or uncaring of Michael’s extreme discomfort. “Do you have a dowry?”

“N- no…?”

“Ah, well. It’s not as if we need the money. So much for SQUIP’s trophy husband classes. I don’t suppose you have any extracurriculars.”

“Jeremy and I are in theater,” Michael said awkwardly. He put his hands in his lap, then he put them flat on the sofa next to him, then he tried to stuff them in his hoodie pocket before he remembered he wasn’t wearing a hoodie. Because he had dressed nice. “Why did you call Jeremy that?”

“It’s his name. The whole ‘Jeremy’ thing was his idea.” Mx. Heere shrugged. “If you came to school and started calling yourself Jose I doubt your mother would indulge you.”

They probably weren’t wrong, but something about the way they had said it made Michael uncomfortable. Not awkward uncomfortable. Playing beach volleyball in the Jaws movie kind of uncomfortable. “I guess.”

“Your mothers. Althea Ocampo, forty three years old, structural engineer at Redding’s?” Michael nodded dumbly, accepting the fact that he had already shamed this conversation by not having a dowry like any self respecting prairie woman. “Married Andrea Mell, forty years old, op-ed columnist for the New Yorker, in 2015?” Michael nodded again. “How charming. Tell me, have you been enjoying the SQUIP so far?”

The change in topic gave Michael whiplash. He swallowed a stammer again, taking a second to force out, “What do you mean by that?”

Before Mx. Heere could answer the door opened and Jeremy came back in, this time carefully holding a tea tray on top of plates. Michael stood up to help him set it on the table, but Jeremy ignored him as he deftly set out the plates and silverware. Michael awkwardly sat back down as Jeremy knelt in front of the tea set. It looked distinctly Japanese and very expensive, with charcoal black cups with painted jolts of electric blue. Jeremy’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he prepared and poured the tea in a strangely rehearsed way, each movement purposeful as he presented the tea to his parent first, and then to Michael. Their hands brushed as he accepted the cup, the familiar tang of static electricity that he could only ever associate with Jeremy, but the hand quickly withdrew as Jeremy stood back up, bowing a little as the miniature office ceremony born of a childhood genesis in Japan was completed. Michael fought the urge to clap as Jeremy moved to stand behind his parent again.

What was going on here?

“Have you been enjoying the SQUIP so far?” Mx. Heere repeated. Jeremy blinked hard. “Be honest, I won’t judge.”

Jeremy was literally standing right behind him. Michael felt like he wasn’t even supposed to be making eye contact with Jeremy right now. He served himself some cho mein and stewed vegetables out of a half-hearted desire to dodge the question. He slowly ate some, feeling horribly awkward with the air stiff and stale.

Finally, he swallowed a slice of bell pepper and said, “He’s my best friend.”

He was rewarded with a grin from Jeremy, bright and small, and Mx. Heere clapped appreciatively. “I’m so glad. Really, your relationship is precious. We’re collecting invaluable data about network models of teenage social systems. With the data we’ve been mining from Jeremy our research developers are compiling the most through social network model the world has ever seen. Eat your heart out, Mark Zuckerberg.”

“Is that why he goes to a public high school?” Michael asked blankly. “Wait, is this why he got so popular freshman year?”

“Precisely!” Mx. Heere jabbed another chopstick at Michael as Jeremy rolled his eyes. It was incredibly weird to sit here talking about his best friend as if he wasn’t there. Everything about this situation was weird. Michael felt like he wasn’t even being allowed to talk to him. “You kids have done more for science than you know. Between Chloe Valentine, Brooke Lohst, Jenna Rolan, Jacob Dillinger, and of course our favorite little Richard Goranski, SQUIP Systems has perfected its understanding of the teenage mind.” Mx. Heere practically giggled. “You would not believe how much the map of the human brain at its most suggestible time is worth on the market.”

“I guess I don’t,” Michael said, dazed. “Is that legal?”

“I made sure of it!” That was a wonderful thing to hear. “But please. Enough about boring adult things.” No, this was interesting, please go back. “What about the SQUIP? Does he still have panic attacks? We keep working on that. What about any nervous tics? The most advanced AI in the world and we gave it anxiety. Imagine!” Mx. Heere laughed, ignoring the way Jeremy’s face was flushed with embarrassment. “So long as you’re beta testing this thing I’m expecting a note made of every time he ruins another shirt. Honestly, I’m not made of the things. I’m so happy you’re on the team. We always need another pair of eyes on this troublemaker.”

“That’s great,” Michael said blankly. He stood up. “Jeremy, can you show me to the bathroom?”

Jeremy looked down at his parent, who laughed and waved him off. “Go do your GPS impression. I’m expecting a phone call from Suzuki-san any minute now anyway.”

Michael fled the room, Jeremy hot on his heels.

He was halfway down the ginormous hallway before he whirled on his heel, confronting Jeremy and fighting to keep his voice down. Jeremy flinched away, dimly lit from the lit kitchen on the far end of the hallway. “Please tell me that guy’s the first to go in the robopocalypse.”

Jeremy flinched again, expression drawn and tight. His cheeks were red. What a marvel of technology, that Michael’s best friend felt embarrassment and blushed and got all sweaty when a cute girl talked to him. What a miracle of life.

Didn’t Jeremy know what a miracle he was? He was the best thing that had ever happened to Michael. And that asshole was treating him like crap!

“I’m - I’m not going to kill anybody, I promise!” He visibly fought the urge to pick at his shirt’s hem, wrapping his arm around himself instead. “I - I don’t know what they kept telling you, but I’m not!”

“Dude,” Michael said seriously. He grabbed Jeremy’s hand, ignoring the way he half-pulled away. “I will help you. What the fuck was their damage? They were trying to humiliate you.”

Jeremy was silent, chewing his lip and looking away.

“Do they always treat you like that?”

He ducked his head, ashamed. “Just when there’s guests over.”

Because it was all about appearances.

Jeremy, the robot who ate a perfect lunch from a decrepit kitchen. For appearances. Who dressed perfect, looked perfect, talked perfectly, for appearances. Jeremy, who had palette swaps. For appearances.

“Jeremy, I can and will murder for you.”

Jeremy huffed a quiet laugh, looking wistful. “You don’t get it, dude. We’re scheduled to take over the world by 2050.”

“Oh, so long from now?”

“Shut up. Just suck up to them and make them happy. Treat me however you want. You’ll be in good for the rest of your life.”

Michael couldn’t admit that he didn’t know how to pretend that he didn’t love him. Everybody in the school knew. Jeremy knew. He had just never cared.

“We should probably head back,” Michael said. You know, like a coward. “They’re gonna get suspicious.”

Jeremy gave him a blank look. “Don’t you have to go to the bathroom?”

“Jeremy, you beautiful moron.”

When they approached the door again they heard the faint strains of conversation, and Michael abruptly remembered that Mx. Heere said that they were expecting a call. Jeremy held a finger to his lips as he and Michael crept closer, and Michael pressed an ear against the door as Jeremy just stood there. Robot hearing.

The door was thick, but glass didn’t do a good job of absorbing sound and Michael heard their lilting, smooth voice clearly.

“ - back in May. Yes. Yes, I agree it may be necessary, but preferably -” Mx. Heere was quiet for a long moment. “March is fine. I’ll have to pull it out of school, and I hate to disrupt the data collection, but we have enough to go on. It’s not like it cares.” Mx. Heere barked a laugh. “It needs repairs anyway.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything. He just turned and ran away.

Michael didn’t know what to do. He had no context for this. He had never met anybody who didn’t love Jeremy. It seemed kind of stupid that the one person who didn’t care about him was his own parent. It seemed even stupider that at the end of the day only one person’s opinion ever mattered.

Life wasn’t fair and it was dumb. But Michael wasn’t about to make it any dumber.

He opened the door, stepping quietly into the room as Mx. Heere laughed again over something Somebody-san said. When they saw Michael their eyes widened, and they quickly wrapped up their conversation. Michael dug around in his jean pocket as Mx. Heere verbally shut off the phone and sighed.

“I suppose the kid heard all of that.”

“Yeah, it was pretty upset.” Michael withdrew his notebook from his pocket, Lisa Frank and all, and tossed it on the table next to the fried rice. “I know I wasn’t actually hired to do anything, but I kind of quit. I think he needs a friend more than a researcher right now. Just like he needs a parent more than a scientist.”

Mx. Heere sighed, rubbing their forehead.They were still sprawled out casually on the couch, the image of the businessman home from work and relaxing on his couch as his wife vacuumed or something, but the image was ruined when they leaned forward and picked up the book. They leafed through it a little, Michael standing awkwardly as he remembered exactly how embarrassing the notebook was, but their expression settled into something alien. It may have been fondness.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Was the sky blue? Michael responded reflexively, not even considering pretending. “More than anything.”

“Teenagers.” They leafed through the book, flipping back towards the beginning. Michael realized too late that the book wasn’t restrained to his vague effort collecting information for Mx. Heere. It had his other speculation about Jeremy too - how he got such good grades, a breakdown of his cool outfits, their math homework. It held sketches of their life together, of their silly little high school days filled with investigation and group cheers. Now Mx. Heere was leafing through it, eyebrows raised. Fabulous. “You know, we could have built an android instead.”

If they wanted something - someone - easier to take care of, then they should have gotten a house plant. Michael crossed his arms. “Then why didn’t you?”

“You can’t take over the world with an android.” Mx. Heere flipped the book shut and shrugged. “An android wouldn’t have come home a year after it was made begging me for a video game. A cute boy in his class liked them, you know.” Yikes. Michael blushed as Mx. Heere twitched a small smile. “Heading R&D of the company acquiring Microsoft working with a literal robot and it took almost two hours to set up that stupid XBox. The entire time I couldn’t help but think - man, I didn’t sign up for this! I just thought he would, you know, hang around. LIke an iDog. I didn’t know what to do with him.”

“Wait, you own Microsoft? Since when?”

“I didn’t know it back then, but we needed something like Jeremy. Someone like him. Bugs and all.” They raised an eyebrow at Michael, who shifted uncomfortably. “The data we gathered has to be so much more representative of our sample. A true godsend. Having a cute kid to win against in Monopoly was fun too.”

They were talking around something, hinting at it but refusing to say it. Adults were such cowards. “I need him.” He took a deep breath. “Jeremy’s not a shallow person. He can’t get by on - on appearances. I know how you need him to look for senators and executives and shit, but he needs to know that you see more in him than his bugs. He doesn’t need the XBox, he needs you to spend the time setting it up with him.”

“Parenting advice from a twelve year old. Let me know how much your consultation bill is.” They tossed the notebook back at Michael, as distantly amused as ever, and he scrambled to catch it. “Run after him and go dry hump or something. I don’t know how teenagers work these days. You have my parental blessing.”

Michael squawked, half a decade of maternal mocking flashing before his eyes, but Mx. Heere just cackled. Something nasty occurred to him. “Is - is that ethical? Can robots consent?” Oh, god, did he even have working parts? Why the fuck would you build a cyborg with working parts?

Mx. Heere snorted. “Ask his Macbook hard drive. Run along and find the attic. I have food to finish and a few calls to make. I’m sure we can find some excuse to finish out the school year.”

Oh. “Uh - thanks, I guess.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t just tell Jeremy that - but then, he supposed that they just weren’t that kind of family.  “Thanks for having me over?”

Mx. Heere rolled their eyes and picked up their food again, serenely returning to shoving it into their mouth. “I don’t want grandchildren, so use protection.”

“Great, good talk, bye now.”

On that heartwarming note Michael escaped the room as quickly as he could without making it seem like he was escaping at all. Judging from Mx. Heere’s eerie laugh echoing through the suddenly creepy hallways his heart, as ever, was on his shoulders.

Michael didn’t know why Jeremy apparently had the tendency to run off into the attic when he was upset. God knows there were enough other rooms to go be upset in. He could go hide under one of the computer towers and swipe at their ankles like a cat, or hide in a blanket fort playing the Halo dating sim on his Switch 3XL, but maybe he was friends with the air conditioner.

He didn’t know what else to do, so he found the closest stairwell and just climbed. He climbed up the grandiose foyer, climbed up the dim second floor shrouded in the rapidly fading light, and climbed up a third story that was pitch black, spooky sounding, and made him sneeze. He could only see a dim hallway in front of him, oddly sweltering with every light turned out, and Michael turned to climb back up the steps to the attic before he realized that the stairwell had ended.

Well, this probably wasn’t the attic. Michael couldn’t help but feel a little like a Hardy Boy or suburban Indiana Jones, trapezing through the home of the reclusive genius and his robot butler. Not that he would ever call Jeremy that to his face.

The attic stairwell was behind a door incongruously tucked between two bedrooms, which were empty except for a treadmill and really ugly wallpaper. The stairwell was tight, dusty, and dark, and Michael fumbled awkwardly for a light switch before giving up and resigning himself towards suing the Heeres when he got a head injury. Then he remembered that his phone had a flashlight, so that problem was finally taken care of.

The attic was crowded, as all attics were, but it was the first room in the entire house that it was actually filled with furniture. There were boxes of stuff piled in a corner, and when Michael swiped his flashlight across a far wall he saw dressers and vanities, eerie clouded mirrors glinting with his light and a small row of folded plastic tables sagging with cardboard boxes. If Michael stepped forward he could see the dates marked on the sides of the boxes in Sharpie - 2018, 2019, 2020. If he walked to the left they went back even farther - 2015, 2014. Not a childhood home, then, but a long one. Since before Jeremy came along, so before they moved to America. On the list of mysteries it wasn’t at the top, but it was yet another inscrutable piece of Jeremy’s childhood Michael would never get to know.

When he poked his head into the 2020 box he found an old XBox and Jeremy’s giant sixth grade binder. He couldn’t help but smile. Something, at least, was real.

He found the blanket nest before he found Jeremy. It was the most Jeremy thing Michael had ever seen - a teetering pile of blankets and a rug scattered with half a dozen electronics, from handheld gaming consoles to larger ones, a giant computer rig with a monitor stacked on top of old textbooks and a small army of old Mountain Dew bottles. There was a microwave with Ramen cups scattered around it. Moreover, there was Jeremy, curled up on on a beanbag chair, hugging his knees tight against his chest with his forehead on his kneecaps. There were half a dozen fidget toys dropped next to his hand, for the preservation of his shirt.

There was no way he hadn’t heard Michael come up, so he didn’t worry about startling him as he crouched down next to Jeremy. On second thought, he reached over and pulled over another beanbag, squirming around to make a perfect seat and feeling thoroughly 2005.

He had been expecting them to sit there in silence for a little while, the only sound the gentle humming of the air conditioner that was probably giving Jeremy a pep talk right now. Jeremy surprised him by squeezing his legs and groaning. But maybe he hadn’t known as much about Jeremy as he had thought.

“I don’t know why they hate me so much,” Jeremy said, muffled by his kneecaps. “They - they never respect my pronouns or my name! It’s like they think I’m lying.”

Michael patted him on the back. He was a master at friendship speeches, but he wasn’t so great at making people feel better. He was a master of hard truths, not at soft lies.

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault we aren’t a normal family. I’m a robot, they can’t love me.”

“I love you,” Michael said softly, knowing that it couldn’t make up for the absence, incapable of hiding it. “I always have.”

Jeremy looked up for the first time, and Michael saw that his eyes were a little red. He squinted balefully at Michael. “I was lying to you, Michael. I was pretending I have a brain instead of a grey oblong pill. I know you love me, but - but you love Jeremy, not the SQUIP. Jeremy has a 4.0 and money and nice hair. I’m a freaking Roomba.”

What a beautiful moron. He was Michael’s beautiful moron. “So the only reason we’re not dating is because you have a hard drive?”

Jeremy sniffed. He would just take that as a yes, then.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me you’ve been gay this whole time?”

Jeremy shot him a vaguely affronted look. “All robots are pansexual.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned this?”

“Yeah, but then you’d just write it down in that weird notebook you keep carrying around, and then you might think I have human feelings like normal people, and -”

He was being stupid again, so Michael reached over and kissed him. He didn’t taste like plastic, or like rubber or machinery. He tasted bright blue and electric, sending jolts through Michael’s body, setting him alight.

When they seperated Jeremy’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and instead of elation or euphoria or disbelief or overwhelming love Michael was surprised to find that he just felt smug. It was even better than love. One upping Chloe was the best feeling in the world.

Maybe it was the best feeling, but the best thing in the world was Jeremy’s face. He looked like he hadn’t known that Master Chief was Michael’s first crush and that he was sexually attracted to Jeremy’s Tesla. He looked like Michael hadn’t stalked him until he knew everything important about him, everything beyond his perfect teeth and perfect hair. He looked like a moron, basically.

He was too flabbergasted to talk, so Michael did instead. “I think some people weren’t meant to be parents,” he said slowly, uncomfortable trying to prescribe a personality profile towards somebody he just met and was thoroughly creeped out by. “And I don’t think they see themselves as a parent. But I don’t think they hate you, because I don’t think anybody can hate you. And I think you should have this conversation with them instead.”

Finally, Jeremy licked his lips and said, “I can’t promise I won’t cause the robot apocalypse.”

“If it means the death of capitalism I’m pretty okay with that.”

“Your in-laws would be Windows phones.”

“I’m pretty sure they aren’t going to start being racist at Christmas, so they’re already better than my family.”

“I have baggage.”

“Then I will be your baggage claim,” Michael said seriously, or as seriously as he could ever say that. “And we can lord this over Chloe for the rest of time, or until we break up.”

“Let’s go with the rest of time,” Jeremy said seriously, and this time he leaned forward to kiss him instead. It was perfect, perfect like Jeremy, perfect like the SQUIP.

Michael took a picture of them kissing and sent it to the group chat. Because being right was the most important thing.

 

 **Jake:** does this mean that robots can pass the turing test now

 **Christine:** im pretty sure that kitties can pass the turing test

 **Christine:** anthropomorphizing

 **Brooke:** anthroporMEOWizing

 **Jake:** hahah sickkkkk

 **Chloe:** Good one honey clap emoji

 **Brooke:** kissy face emoji

 **Chloe:** triple kissy face emoji

 **Michael:** ugh you guys are disgusting

 **Chloe:** REALLY? US?

 **Brooke:** REALLY? US?

 **Jake:** Really? Us????

 **Rich:** Really...us.S??

 **Jenna:** rly? :) Us? :))))

 **Christine:** Really, us? :D

 **Jeremy:** lmao

 **Jeremy:** rely us?

 **Rich:** why the fuck do you make typos you type with your brain

 **Jeremy:** im multitsking :)

Image. Michael kissing Jeremy on the cheek. Six heart reactions. One knife reaction.

 

**STEP THREE IN SAVING THE WORLD FROM JEREMY + ASSOCIATES (when step one and two work out in the end)**

 

  1. Find more important things to do with your time.


  1. Like being right.
  2. Or accepting the robocalypse
  3. Or making out
    1. That too.



  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm at theinternationalacestation.tumblr.com in case you want to hold me accountable for my crimes.


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